“Among our people, warlords are warriors with experience in battle, enough so that they inspire men to follow them. A warlord does not get his army from his father, nor pass it to his child. It is earned by his own deeds. A warlord uses his or her skill to challenge for the right to gather men into armies, and use their armies to raid and pillage for the gain of all. So it is and so it has always been.”
I made as if to speak, but Joden held up a hand. “Now, our traditions tell us that there is yet another treasure that a warlord can obtain in battle. That is a warprize. A warprize must be discovered during the course of a battle, or on or near a battlefield. A warprize must render aid to the warlord or his men.” Joden lifted a finger. “Most important, a warprize must be attractive to a warlord, must spark feelings of desire.” He grinned slyly. “It is said that the attraction between warlord and warprize is as the heat of the sun that shines in the height of summer.”
I sat, my eyes wide, and listened.
“Now, once a warlord recognizes a potential warprize, he stops the fighting and enters into talks with the leaders of the land. He must negotiate for the warprize, making the best deal that he can.” Joden leaned back a little and chuckled. “Keir did well there.” He sobered and looked at me. “Having done that, a warprize must submit willingly to the warlord, before witnesses of both their peoples. Then a warprize is displayed to the warlord’s army. Upon their return to our lands, the confirmation ceremony is held before the Council of Elders.”
Joden reached for a flask of kavage that Marcus had brought and two cups, and poured for both of us. “ But even these ceremonies do not create a true warprize.”
Joden took a sip from his mug. “Lara, a true warprize is a rare thing. We value them, for our people have found that the warprize brings a new way of thinking, of doing things. It makes us better, stronger, when we are exposed to new ways and new ideas. You cannot fake a true warprize, nor pick one, nor force one. They happen maybe once in five generations, and we see it as a benediction from the elements themselves, even for the upheaval that they bring.”
I sat there, trying to make sense of his words.
“Our people started as tribes, tribes based on our totem animals. Keir is of the Cat, Simus is of the Hawk, as am I. There was a time when the tribes fought among themselves. It was the first warprize, long ago, that created that change, that united the tribes.” Joden rubbed his hand on his knees. “Why did you submit to Keir, if you thought you would be a slave?”
I had to swallow before I could answer, my mouth was so dry. “To save my people.”
Joden smiled slightly. “Lara, there are no other warprizes. When you submitted to Keir, you were submitting to give him a chance to court you, a chance to show you what you could and do mean to him.” He frowned again. “And this was explained to your king, probably privately, during the talks.”
He tilted his head, looking at me as if I was a child at my lessons. “Do you understand? You are not a ‘ slave’. You are a mate, a consort. You are second only to Keir in this camp. If you demand your freedom and leave this camp no one, including Keir,” he emphasized, “would lift a finger to stop you. By our laws and by our ways, you cannot be held here. Your presence in our camp is a gift to your people and our people and we acknowledge that gift.”
I blinked. “The bracelets…”
Joden smiled. “Keir had the bracelets crafted in hope. They are not a symbol of your…” He stumbled on the word. “… slavery. They are symbols of your potential bond.”
I still didn’t believe. “The token. Keir said that the token was not for me to use.”
Joden quirked his mouth. “How does it look if the woman you are courting feels she needs its protections?”
I just stared at him.
He met my eyes calmly. “You are not property. If you choose to leave, no one will stop you.”
I stood.
He stayed seated and watched me walk out of the tent.
Isdra looked up. “Need help with a pot, Warprize?”
I looked at her oddly, hearing ‘Warprize’ as a title, not a label or a thing.
My silence attracted Epor’s attention. He took up his war club and stood. “Warprize?”
Joden’s horse was outside, cropping at the sparse grass. I moved forward and grabbed the reins. Epor moved as if to follow me. “No. Stay here.”
Epor stopped dead. Isdra came to stand next to him. “Warprize,” she spoke quickly. “We are commanded to guard you—”
“I wish to leave camp.” I gave them a narrow glance.
Epor sucked in a breath. “If that is the case, we cannot stop you. But Warprize, please, let us get horses and escort you back to your people. Let us at least assure your safety.”
“No.”
Epor swallowed hard. Isdra went as white as her hair. Joden had followed me out of the tent and stood there looking at me. Isdra appealed to him. “Singer, please tell her that it’s for her own safety. The attempts on her life…”
I waited.
“She is the warprize, yes? And to be obeyed?” Joden asked.
Epor and Isdra both nodded. I swung myself up into the saddle.
Joden’s face did not change its expression as he looked up at me. “You are free, Lara. The only restraints on you are those of your own choosing.”
I turned the horse, jammed my toes into its belly, and it sprang down the road toward the camp’s main gate.
Through the camp we plunged, the horse’s mane and my hair streaming in the wind. The horse was willing, and I could feel its muscles move under me as its hooves pounded into the earth. I leaned forward, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time.
There was no outcry behind us, no one tried to stop me.
Some saw me and waved a hand in acknowledgment, but showed no surprise nor consternation. I plunged headlong between the tents, urging the horse on and on, a rising feeling of excitement in my chest. We pounded through the main gate and out into the field beyond. The guards there seemed only mildly interested, if slightly disapproving of my riding style.
Out the gate and up the rise where the beaten road met the main road that led from the castle gates down into the valley. I pulled the horse to a stop, but it fought me, wanting to run. It danced beneath me, and I wheeled its head about, until at last it was quiet beneath me.
We stood there, the horse blowing and my heart pounding against my ribs.
No one was following, no one was reacting, there was no hue and cry, no chase. I was free. Truly, truly free.
Chapter 11
I laughed, delighted at my freedom, at the sun on my face, at the wind in my hair. The horse danced under me, eager to go. I wheeled it to face the city and the castle. I could go home.
The wind blew my hair into my face, and I used one hand to clear it away. I could go home, back to my old life, as if nothing had happened. Run to the kitchens and Anna’s loving arms and Othur’s grin and pick up the tatters of my life. Rebuild the stillroom, make Xymund see reason, and…
What if Keir was right? What if Xymund had tried to have me killed?
If I returned to the castle, I’d be under his authority. Anna and Othur may love me dearly, but they couldn’t stand between us.
Even more, if I returned to the castle, I returned to the known. The commonplace, daily routine of my life. Yet I’d been ripped up by the roots and the pot had been broken, and I wasn’t sure that I’d fit there ever again. Much less grow.
I hesitated, and wheeled the horse again. It puffed out its breath and stamped at the grass. This time we faced the road that led to the valley. I had skills, and there’d be those that would help me. I could go to the lands that my father left me, and start that school, living out my days teaching and healing. I could even leave for some foreign land. With some supplies and a few coins I could make my way anywhere in this world. Leave Keir and Xymund to weave their pattern and get myself out of this tangle that they called a ‘peace’.